


Haunted

by orphan_account



Series: Don't Wait 'Till the Fire Dies Down [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bottom Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson is Robin, Dick Grayson-centric, Dream Logic, Dubious Consent, Hurt Dick Grayson, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sexual Abuse, Top Bruce Wayne, Unreliable Narrator, Wally West is Kid Flash, ill add tags as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25842598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “My love for you, our love for this, is genuine,”He deep down knows that’s not true, and it’s something else probably, but his skeletons in the closet desperately need cleaning but it’s not going to be any time soon.Or: Bruce's relationship with Dick begins down its downward spiral into damnation.Updates Fridays.
Relationships: Barry Allen & Wally West, Dick Grayson & Clark Kent, Dick Grayson & Roy Harper, Dick Grayson & Wally West, Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne
Series: Don't Wait 'Till the Fire Dies Down [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875223
Comments: 32
Kudos: 125





	1. Axis Tilt

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all for the love you guys gave for repent, i appreciate it :) to ne 1 new, you can read that for a bit of context for this but it's not needed.

No one finds out anything. Not anything for a long time, no. 

Bruce felt that everyday was a fever dream, because his life has become so _perfect_ and _beautiful_ , filled with days filled with his room filled with the smell of sex with the only one he’s ever truly loved. Someone who unconditionally loved him for him and knew _all_ of him. It was absolutely gorgeous.

So gorgeous, and it has to be a god out there somewhere, because somehow this goes on ~~_way too long_ ~~ forever.

Being able to come home from work or patrol and with a snap of his fingers have his little cockslut down on his knees engulfing his cock and nimble hands toying his balls like he’s been doing it ever since he came out of his mother’s womb.

_Come_ ~~_to think of it, with his age that might as well be the case_ ~~

And the beauty of his little ~~**whore**~~ angel’s tears when they take it slow, Bruce dragging his cock out as slow as he can for hours on end, milking Dick’s moans and tears out with each slam back in. He always kisses and drinks them away, because he’s his little angel. 

Stunning. Absolutely, without a single doubt, stunningly beautiful.

With that he hated, just **_hated_ ** being separated from his little bird. Despised it. It’s hell. 

(He never knew when Hell became when he had to _just_ **_had to_ ** run to a bathroom to have a quick self fuck session because _his_ lips weren’t on him or Bruce’s cock wasn’t coming inside of him but it became all the same.)

He almost feels sorry.

 ~~That is, for himself.~~ His chum is older now, he’s growing into his body--such the Adonis--tall, not any taller than Bruce’s massive size, lean with thin layers of muscle that pack serious damage when used and not an inch of fat anywhere except his beautiful ass.

That’s his baby boy. Perfect for him.

His pace must’ve slipped with thinking because Dick’s face grew a pout and he stopped wailing and began to whine.

“Bruuuce,” he asked, breathing heavy, eyes glazed over, otherworldly. Bruce growls, he makes Dick feel this way, no one else. No one will _ever_ be able to breathe the same air as his baby, it’ll be tainted. The only one who’s allowed to do that is **him**. 

~~_Not that he’d ever admit to corrupting his child, he hasn’t done so for a long time._ ~~

He pulls out, relishing in the spurt of come that spills from Dick’s hole, and he spreads his legs wider and grabs him by the ankles closer to him and pounds back into the boy, feelings jumbled and mixed together whenever his balls slammed onto Dick’s ass and the obscene sounds of their ~~**fuck**~~ _dance_. 

He leaned into his lover’s neck and bit, and somewhere he heard someone scream and grip his wavy black hair, their fingers entangled in his embrace. Legs wrapped around him, bringing him even closer to his precious baby boy. 

“Ah, Bruce! I’m going to--”

Dick’s last tendon holding him together is cut and he falls apart, coming all over Bruce’s stomach. 

“ **Fuck, Dick--!** ” Bruce falls apart too, shooting the third load of come up his asshole. 

Dick’s eyes open and shut syrupy and _slow_ as he catches his breath, and it takes Bruce’s breath away more than it already is.

_He’ll sell his soul to have this every night_ ~~**_however you could say he already did._**~~

* * *

Wally West is excited. 

No, not the correct word. Enthusiastic, animated, _thrilled_ . Yeah, thrilled for tomorrow. He can’t fucking believe it, he can barley stop moving about (but you can’t really slow down a speedster, it’s like telling someone not to _breathe_ , it’s _nature_ ). 

It’s common knowledge that Bats is a scary man. Well, duh, but he’s a scary dude who barely lets his badass sidekick, the original sidekick, the _holy-fuck-he’s-starstuck_ sidekick (is that an insult? He’s so much more than that--!) out of his sight. Like, never ever. Well, a couple times, that’s how he met the dude afterall, (it’s also how he got his personal lesson from Batman to not go to Gotham but _whatever_ because **Robin** knows _him_ now so it’s all chill)

But yeah, when Uncle Barry came home earlier from work, beaming “Hello kiddo,” he knew something, just some little itty-bitty thing was up. 

**_Totally_ ** wasn't what he expected though. (Could you really blame him though?)

Christmas came in the middle of fuckin’ August, apparently.

They had sat across from each other, a glass coffee table separating them. The TV in the background played some nonsense, what it was Wally didn’t know (really he didn't care because his uncle was being a smug son-of-a-bitch and in between his obnoxious slurps of lo-mein takeout he tries to sneak a glance and grins and dammit will he tell him what’s up already?)

“How was school, Walls?”

“School,” he replied curtly. Will he just spit it out already? 

Barry hums. Slurp. Smack.

Wally feels his eye twitch and his brow get a tick.

“How was work?”

“Work.”

Wally groaned. He flopped down onto the couch and dragged his hands down his face.

“AAH!” He screamed. “For the love of all things, please just tell me what’s up!”

Barry raised a brow. Slurp. Chuckle.

Wally sat up and growled. 

“Is it with Rudy? Did a new thing in the case get pulled up? Dammit, did he break out and you got him? _Is that whyyou'resocockyfornoreason_ ? _Did he get charged_? I thought I was going to have to testify and do all that court mumbo jumbo but I guess not..”

Barry burst out laughing, no, full on cackling, like a hyena. 

“Walls,” he paused trying to stop the giggles coming out from him, “no, unfortunately, no.”

Wally paused. “Then what the hell is up then?”

“You like hanging out with Robin, yeah?”

Wally gaped. Well, no duh, **yeah** Rob is fucking awesome--he doesn’t even have superpowers yet he’s a total badass and when he’s not fighting crime he’s a super chill dude and--

“Yeah, why?”

“Good, you’re gonna be able to hang out with him more.”

Wally didn’t even feel his mouth drop.

“I call bull, no way.” Wally may be not the smartest, but he’s smart enough to know that there’s more to it than that. A cavat, like Wally has to sacrifice a lamb everytime he sees him so some shit. There’s got to be more to it.

“Close your mouth, kiddo, you’ll swallow a fly. But yeah, seeing how you’re new to the hero game, along with many others, and he’s not, a couple of us _cool_ adults decided that it would be a good idea to have him be able to interact with people like him more, to help you guys become better.”

“That’s at least the plan, right? Ok, so I’m sure Bats totally got pissy when you asked him to share.”

Barry chuckled. “Oh yeah. The scowl he has etched in his face? I couldn't believe it but it could look even _angrier_. He was so furious, so we asked him what was the reason he couldn’t have Robin out from under his watch when he was extremely capable. Dude didn’t have an answer, so expect to be able to see Robin around a bit more.”

Wally’s mind was running a million things at once, but he managed to spit out one of his questions.

“How soon?”

“Tomorrow, actually.”

Wally is surprised he didn’t faint, but he sure as hell felt like he was going to.

* * *

“You’re going to be leaving me.”

Dick turned his head up to Bruce, brows furrowing. _What does he mean by that?_

Bruce was staring at the top of the bed’s canopy, holding Dick in an embrace, his head laying across his bare, broad chest.

“Why?” 

“I don’t want you to. Those people want to separate us; I don’t trust them, not fully. You love me, right?”

So no answer. But,

“Of course, Bruce. You’re so good to me.” It’s true, it has to be true, without Bruce he wouldn’t be here, he wouldn’t make his body scream and every nerve in his body jolt night after night; he would be _rotting_ in **_Mini Arkham_ **.

Bruce hummed, a pleased sound. Dick’s hair began to be stroked, and he leaned into the touch.

“The league, they won’t love you the same way I do. They can’t, it won’t be the same. I, I love you. I’m the only one who will really, truly love you.”

Dick knows this. They have this same conversation whenever he meets with Kid Flash or Superman, or anyone, really. And he knows that everything Bruce says is true; when has it _not_?

His parents didn’t kiss his neck and leave love marks ~~**_and then told him to cover them up or he will never do it again._ ** ~~

Clark doesn’t pick up Dick and slam him onto his desk to love him he picked him up to spin him around and round _a ~~nd when Bruce didn’t he felt like what Bruce was doing was inadvertently wrong but~~ _ ~~**_he just couldn’t put his finger on it_ ** ~~

Diana didn’t force him down on the ground and ~~**make** ~~ ask him to tell him why he should keep on loving him. Not once.

Wally doesn’t start a countdown whenever Dick doesn’t feel like saying anything wrong that’s going on inside his head ~~_but he has to say_ **_something_ ** _,_ **_anything_ ** _and he ends up just spilling a bit so he can stop worrying because he_ **_has_ ** _to be good_ _,_ **_he has to_ ** ~~

And that makes him feel wrong. 

“My love for you, our love for this, is genuine,” Bruce seals his words in with a kiss.

Something so gentle, ~~_and yet Dick goes every night and washes until his skin feels_ **_bare_ ** _and_ **_raw_ ** ~~ _._

He tells himself that it’s because he’s sneaking away to spend time with people like him, because he needs it, he craves it, being with friends, it’s beautiful. But sneaking away isn’t being good, especially to Bruce, and it’s simply the guilt seeping under his skin.

_He deep down knows that’s not true, and it’s something else probably, but his skeletons in the closet desperately need cleaning but it’s not going to be any time soon._

  
  


And with the conversation that they have everytime Bruce has to **l ~~oosen his claws on~~** leave Dick, it’s different somehow.

Dick doesn’t feel resentful towards anyone. He’s happy. Roy, Wally and Kaldur are all amazing and he’ll be able to _be_.

But Dick has to be good, such a people pleaser he is, and he smiles at Bruce and thanks him, leaning up to kiss him. 

“I know.”

That’s the biggest lie he’s ever told, he doesn’t know **_jack shit_ **. But it makes Bruce smile back and melts the tension from the man's shoulders that Dick is sure he didn’t even know he was holding. 

“I love you,” says Bruce.

Dick is starting to wonder if it’s the correct one. But if it makes Bruce happy--

“I love you too.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Happiness in Slavery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's mind shifts the guilt and responsibilities of his life like water, and he gets seasick. Alfred chips in to help.
> 
> (Bruce makes him go back to gagging and choking on air, though.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school started for me (gross, who told me to take 5 ap classes)
> 
> I am in a very 'I-don't-know-if-i-hate-or-love' relationship with this chap, especially compared to what I have in store for u guys next Tuesday (mwahaha)
> 
> thank you guys so much for the support on repent and last chapter, it means tons

Dick gaspes.

His heart seemingly beats out of his chest and while catching his breath, he takes in his surroundings. Grey walls, concrete floor. A torch light on the left, showing that the walls are made out of stone. His eyes look around, taking everything widely like an captured animal. He gets this feeling that he has to go, leave, take flight.

He jerks his hands and legs to get free. He can’t--stuck, rope tied intricately to the point where he can't do a _damn_ thing. “Shit!” he cries. 

He tugs once, twice.

No dice.

 _ **Fuck**_.

He’s nude, feeling that as more time passes he’s becoming more aware of who he is and who this **~~_his_~~** body belongs to and just _him_. Then, suddenly by some unknown force, he’s jerked back down. Dick grunts as his head slams the ground with more force than necessary by these hands, thick, large--

**Bruce**. 

It’s his hands, but why is he pulling him down? Why is it? Why is he--

The _hands_ , more of them form. There’s five, no ten, _no_ , **_no_** , **too many**. They race over to Dick, for some of them pulled, dragging themselves across the ground, while others crawl across it, like fucking _spiders_. Dick twists and turns, desperately trying to leave to _get out to run_ **_to fly_ ** _to_ **_be_ **

~~**_He’s cold and he doesn’t want to be here and he never did anything wrong why is he here--?_ ** ~~

They come at him faster, one clasps over his mouth, then as the rest were piling on his legs and arms, two scratched at his eye, nails and unkempt cuticles and nails digging underneath the waterline and peeling them open.

He blinked and tossed and turned his head to get them off but it just wouldn't work why didn't it work **why won't anyone listen to him** \--!

“ _You lost your chance when you believed that we deserved to die._ ”

Dick jerked to the voice and nearly threw up. It was his mother. Her head was cocked to the side; the parts of her eye that were once white were now tinged a sickly yellow, and her baby blues were made into a caricature of itself, the pupil faded into obscurity leaving cloudiness. Lifeless.

_Not something he had ever wanted to be associated with his mother, yet here they were._

Ink black hair sprawled all across the floor, mixed with the blood that just _wouldn’t fucking_ **_stop_ ** oozing from her broken neck, hip, and limbs. 

Her body contorted; thrown like a **_ragdoll_**.

Dick opened his mouth to speak, only for the hand to plunge down his throat and break through his neck, spilling muscle and skin all over, and blood gushing out the hole. Dick gargled and then, **_silence_**.

______________________________________________________________________________

**BEEP** ! **BEEP** ! **BEEP**!

 _Shut up_

It didn’t. 

**BEEP** ! **BEEP** ! **BEEP**!

Wally rolled in his bed, and flopped over to his right where his alarm was. He could’ve sworn he heard a “ _Wally, wake up_!”

 **BEEP** ! **BEEP** ! **BEEP**!

He felt like plugging his ears, _Jeeezuz_ , _it’s a whole Saturday. Can’t a dude get some sleep?_ He placed one of the fluffy, white pillows over his face. He groaned.

 **BEEP** ! **BEEP** ! **BEEP**!

The answer was no, according to the alarm clock. Wally groaned louder, lazily flailing his arm at the clock to get it off. There was a knock on his door, then a pound.

 **BEEP** ! **BEEP** ! **BE--**!

 _Finally_. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he looked at the date displayed on it.

_August 23rd, 20XX_

_Saturday 9:45 AM_

**_Shit._ **

* * *

Dick sunk lower and lower against the wall in the shower, and while the marble and glass structure of it all gave him ample room to spread out his legs, he had chosen to hold them close to his heart as possible.

Steam fogged the shower door and floated all around the room and himself, and the extreme heat burned at his skin, but he couldn’t be bothered to do so much as contemplate making it lower. 

**_He needed it to burn, it’s better ~~than scratching until he bleeds~~ or crying until his throat is raw._ **

His skin was flushed an aching, painful red. Different from when he was with Bruce, a light flush, gently brushed across as if it were a first layer of watercolor paint.

This is like the face of a screaming man _he’s screaming in the inside, sure, but it’s different_.

Different because he _says_ it is or different because it’s an physical representation for some invisible layer of within himself that’s angry and has to come out eventually, he doesn't know.

Dick goes through the motions after that. 

Grab the rag. Squeeze soap. Lather up. Wash face. Rinse.

Grab the douche. Spread his ass. Squirt. Whimper. Suck up tears. _Wash_.

**_Repeat_**.

He bites his lip. _He can’t cry, the day hasn’t even begun_. A couple slip out, despite his best efforts.

He doesn’t know when he’s done; he’s numb by this point, despite his hands slightly trembling. He’s grabbed his foundation (waterproof, he just noticed and he’s noticing so much stuff that it’s overwhelming. Not _just_ whelming, or _under_ whelming. Completely _over_ whelming.)

A press on the notch on the top, and it squeezes onto his little brush. Dab, blend, done.

He grabs a handful of hair gel and rakes it through his locks until it represents what ‘Robin’ is

_He won’t dare try to look at his eyes in the mirror. ~~He hasn’t done that in a long time.~~ _

Dick is slipping on his pants, one leg at a time through the jeans when there’s three knocks on his door. 

“Master Richard, I do call out to you to inform you that your breakfast is ready, and it is wise to eat it today, considering you have a full schedule today,” Alfred calls out to the boy.

Dick sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

* * *

_I had totally forgot already_

Wally shot out of his bed, absolutely _not at_ **_all_ ** falling out face first in the process. Nope, not at all. He yelped.

The door happened to swing open right when he was in this position. 

“Wally, you’re going to be la--” his Aunt Iris was speaking, but stopped mid-sentence to cover her mouth and snicker, belly fluttering.

“Silly boy,” she chuckled, shaking her head as a gust of wind passed her moments after he was already gone.

Wally didn’t even give himself time to feel embarrassed before he sped to the bathroom to rinse his face ( _if that counts as just splashing water all over yourself and your clothes, barely getting all the eye crust_ ) brush his hair ( _one, two, and he’s done_ !) and brush his teeth ( _Iris or Barry have been getting on his case for ruining every single toothbrush he’s had by using his super speed to brush and it fucks up the bristles to no return_ ). 

Wally does a quick glance at the stupid grey clock in their hallway ( _why is it stupid? Because no matter how each time he fixes it, it still every day hangs more to the_ **_right_ ** _or the_ **_left_ ** _and it_ **_bugs him_ **) to look at the time.

_9:49 AM_

Shit _shit_ **_shit_ **

How in the hell was he supposed to be at the zeta by 10? He hasn’t even--

“OW!”

Wally rubs his head, eyes closed in pain. When he looks up it’s his Uncle Barry’s face in a grimace, rubbing his chest. _Now I know Barry isn’t blind_.

Wally opened his mouth for an explanation and apology, when the sliding of glass plates across the island countertops caught his (really the smell grabs both the males) attention more. 

“I made your guys’ favorite!”

* * *

Dick moved his fork around through the scrambled eggs, not taking a single bit of it. He held his chin in his unoccupied hand, elbow on the table, and brows furrowed.

Twist, twist, _clank_.

“Is the meal not satisfactory, Master Richard,” Alfred spoke, making Dick flinch. He turned his head to where his voice was coming from; behind him Alfred had been washing the dishes.

When Dick didn’t reply, he cocked his eyebrow.

“The, the food’s good. Always is,” Dick turned back to stare at his plate. Pancakes, drizzled in honey, those same scrambled eggs, and a couple pieces of honeydew in the corner. “The food’s always more than just good, it’s just something’s on my mind is all.”

He takes a breath and then just as he’s about to take a bite

“And what seems to be troubling you?”

Shit. He should probably just say ‘nothing’ and move on, Alfred is usually ok with ‘nothing’

~~**_Everyone’s usually ok with nothing except for Bruce but that’s because he cares a little extra_ ** . ~~

But Alfred has taken a seat next to him and he’s trying to feign indifference to whatever he chooses to do but _god_ ; he looks him in the eyes and all he sees is pure concern--

What the hell. If he doesn’t say anything now then he never will.

_Besides, not like this will bite him in the ass later, right?_

“Do you ever feel like you’re doing the wrong thing even if people tell you otherwise?”

Dick looked down, the floor and pecked at plate suddenly becoming the most interesting things in the world upon Alfred’s hard gaze. There was a silence, probably him wanting Dick to elaborate, before a heavy sigh.

“Master Grayson, you must recall that before I began to serve as the butler for the Wayne’s, I was a medic for those who fought in the war.” He nods, it was definitely something he had suspected, considering how he patches him and Bruce up after their patrols, but with the details he had gotten, it was certainly something he ended up not expecting to associate that job with the man.

“Then you seem to understand the consequences for many people like me,” Alfred hummed. He touched Dick shoulder, which made the boy look at him.

“The Germans were already breed to have hatred and the rage for the fight years before any fighting actually happened. When opposition appeared they were sent to the slaughterhouse as an enemy. And while there are people who did that peacefully and violently, regardless the bottom line is that they did so for the right reasons.”

Dick sat down and really listened, but was confused. _What did all of it mean_?

“That is to say, you have a mind of your own. You are not like Master Bruce, Master Richard. 

You can find what’s right, and manage to do so without losing yourself to hate. Continue doing so, and in your life I shall guarantee prosperity.”

Oh. 

He thinks he’s talking about Robin. ~~_That hurts_ ~~.

But, somehow he feels like a couple rocks have been taken off of his ever-aching back.

“Thank you, Alfred.” Dick shot him a smile, not necessarily a ear to ear toothy grin, but soft and genuine. Alfred shot him one back.

Alfred picked up his plate and shooed him.

“Now run along, you weren’t going to eat this anyway, but I do expect you do eat today.”

“Of course.”

For once, he felt like that wasn’t going to be another lie.

* * *

As soon as Dick stepped into the batcave, he gained a sinking feeling in his stomach. Bruce was, no, Batman was staring firmly at the batcomputer, face in a snarl and arms stiff. Dick had taken a couple subconscious steps back, not knowing what occurred the wrath of Batman so early in the day. 

Dick took a moment to just sit and look at his mentor. His breath was calculated; he could count the inhales and exhales.

_One two three four_ , inhale. _One two three_ , exhale.

_Mechanical._

He knew Dick was in the room with him. Dick sighed and began stepping forward towards the zeta, doing his best to make his presence known (just in case).

“Robin,” he grunted. Dick tried his best to not flinch. “I need you back in here at 7, no excuses.”

Receiving Bruce’s orders has always calmed him down. His shoulders loosened, giving him a jerky nod as a response. 

“Yes Sir.” 

But Bruce didn’t relax. His stance still hard; gruff. Robin looked at his father, observing again. 

A pit begins to form in his stomach as he watches the man zeta off to the League headquarters.

  
Something is wrong, _really_ wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you have no idea, dick.


	3. Need Versus Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Oliver challenge Bruce, and Dick learns true pain. 
> 
> Wally gets a feeling something isn't what it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> major TW.
> 
> [I'm sorry this wasn't posted at 12, I'll try to keep things on time]
> 
> I live for comments, so, yeah.

**_Kid Flash, BO3_ **

Stumbling out the zeta beam, Kid Flash looked around the office. Oval it was, with each turn of his head displaying a large, golden statue of the founding members of the Justice League. _Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Aquaman, Martian Manhunter, Flash, Batman, Superman_.

Wally’s only been here a grand total of three times; twice were on accident. He stood there, mouth gaping for a moment before moving around to admire the heroes more.

A couple steps forward in the deathly silent room--passing Wonder Woman. A couple more, Green Lantern. A couple more--

BAM!

Head-first into something big and tall. Wally looked up and, given any other circumstance comically, gulped.

Batman. 

Robin strode in, donning a smirk grin as he emerged from a dark corner without a single step heard. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

‘ _Not the right time, Rob_ ’

Batman glared. He started to wonder if Batman was really just a human and not secretly a meta, because there’s no reason a grown man in a batsuit should terrify him this much.

He had opened his mouth to apologize profusely, when a tenor voice beamed through the room. 

“Hey! Green Arrow, Flash,” the man’s pearly smile faltered, “Batman.”

“We need to have a discussion.” Wally thinks that maybe he was imagining things, but he could have sworn that Robin’s smile faltered, too.

“About what?” Everyone turned their head to the new voice, which happened to be

“Speedy,” Green Arrow hissed, “the hell you think you’re doing?” 

“Whatever I feel like, why,” he leaned towards his mentor, he continued sardonically, “does that _bother you_?”

“Speedy,” Green Arrow seethed, “I’m going to ask you again: what the **_hell_ ** do you think you’re--”

A chime suddenly cut through the air as the holo-computer screen appeared, slicing through the palpable atmosphere.

“Unidentified robot destroying Central City and it’s bank on North Grand Boulevard.”

“Shit,” Barry pinched his nose. 

Wally hummed _. It’s not that hard, especially since Rob is supposed to train Roy and me._

“Better use a real example to train us, huh?” Wally laughed, walking over to the Gothamites. 

Robin shared a glance to his mentor _he keeps doing that and it’s starting to set something off in the back of Wally’s head that he can’t point out why it feels_ ** _so wrong_** and with a grunt and an ever stiffening lip, Robin’s grin returns, jogging over to the zeta tube.

“I bet that you can’t beat this down in thirty minutes, tops,” Rob turns his head back to Kid Flash and Speedy, challenging them.

“You’re on,” Speedy says, a wolfish grin plastered on his face, reaching the hollister to his arrow, already loading his first shot.

_It’s hilarious, Robin has been doing this much longer than they ever have, how can you challenge the best?_

It was the zeta beam recognizing Speedy that he decided to get a move on.

“Hey! You guys are going in my city, without **me**!”

* * *

Dick knows those boys. He _knows_ them.

There’s too much of _things_. The familiarity, the smiles shared with each other. Inside jokes, relaxed body language.

His boy has known these boys for a _while_. There’s no reason why his boy looked at Flash’s nephew the way he did, and damn sure not Oliver’s kid. 

Bruce is seething, blood boiling, teeth grinding. 

This is why he doesn’t want his angel near those pathetic children. He’s already been tainted, slipping from his control.

Bruce can’t handle not being in control, and it’s slipping so fast

_down down and out_

Wrong. He’s always in control, especially over his **_cumslut_ ** of a baby boy. Even after he betrayed his father like this. Bruce is a good man. Good to him, he’s forgiving, but Dick’s going to learn that he has to repent for his sin. 

No one is allowed to clip his wings _except for him_.

But the rest of these people, the rest of these fuckers, these pieces of _shit_ , _beneath_ him, _under_ him, **_unworthy_ **, he’s got to remind them who’s in control.

He strides over to Clark, eyes on him and feet shuffling out of his way. His eyes narrow behind his mask. 

“Superman.”

“We need to discuss something, _now_.”

* * *

For a split moment Robin had wished he had done the same as Speedy, because the zeta had placed them right in the middle of the battlefield. Materializing them out of thin air, he landed nimbly on his feet, taking in the giant figure for such a short moment that he could barely make out the color of it. His attention was shortly pulled to Roy, eyes wide as he tried to get a shot at the thing. An arrow shot, a growl, and then the sudden feeling of being jerked across a couple miles.

Dick looked up to Wally, who just shot him a lopsided smile.

“Can’t have you two crushed in less than five minutes, besides,” he turned to Roy, “we’ve got to beat this thing in less than thirty!”

Dick suddenly finds himself breathing even _he doesn’t know when or why he suddenly stopped_ _._

“You’re on Flash Boy,” he grinned, and with a yank to his utility belt, a pull of a trigger and one second of analysis, he let the wire from the grappling gun jerk him to a higher ground.

* * *

“We came here to discuss sending help for Wonder Woman off world,” Batman hissed. 

“You’re the one constantly talking about how capable she is on her own during her mission these past weeks, what’s the change in heart?”

Superman sported a frown, standing in front of Batman, eyes seething. He was sitting down, and _somehow he still found a way to look down on him_ **_still_ **\--!

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with Robin and I.”

Batman had a dangerous tone to his voice. A tone he uses when he feigns diplomacy to other criminals, Clark’s seen it first hand, with a low murmur of something that just makes sense and then shoulders relax, then a sudden grab.

Punch. Pin. 

punch _punch_ , **_punch_ **, twist.

_Snap._

_For a second he considered if his friend was really doing this all for justice_

“You wanted to have a conversation with us anyway, why is it such an issue for me to get through to you-”

Bruce pushed himself out of the desk chair, standing tall to Clark, eyes hidden behind white but he knows, they both know, that his glare is from the hell of a thousand sons.

Bruce’s mouth was about to open when Oliver ran over and punched the oval table, leaving a fist-sized dent, mouth snarled.

“Your fucking ego, my god,” he began. “Jesus, it’s like you have something to hide or something,” he said, sardonically. “The fuck are you doing to that kid?”

Batman directed his cold glare onto Green Arrow now. 

“The hell you trying to say,” said Bruce, a deep, guttural sound yet controlled like ice. 

Queen didn’t back down, instead arms stiffening up and eyes enlarged with rage.

He suddenly relaxed. “That boy’s going to get tired of your shit.” 

Bruce didn’t say a word, and that was the closest anyone would get to Bruce showing his stunned emotion.

“You see the way Robin waits for every little thing to be told by him, don’t you, _Superman_?”

The pause between his code name made the use of anything other than ‘Clark’ sound ridiculous.

The man in question shifted stance. Everyone noticed, but it being brought up for what it is so suddenly left a sour taste in people’s mouths.

~~_Gargling on blood, choking for air--!_ ~~

“Yes.”

Bruce’s lips contorted in a snarl for half a second, barely visible.

It fueled Oliver’s fire. Clark shifted down due to pressure, and it ended up just being the three men in the growing cold, echoing room.

“You son of a **_bitch_ **,” Oliver grabbed the top of Batman’s suit, trying to jerk him but to no avail. “If it were anyone else there’d be an investigation right on the spot.” 

_His hands were shaking._

“Well?” He asked. “You egotistical bastard, none of this changes how you know that boy won’t even take a single step without your approval,” he remarked, A sardonic ‘ _Batman_ ’ topping it all.

  
  


“Tell me this: does that poor child even **_piss_ ** without begging for your approval?”

  
  


Bruce’s hand jolted to Oliver’s and began to squeeze, dangerously close to _snapping all his_ **_fucking fingers_ **.

Just in time, Oliver pulled his hand out the Dark Knight’s grasp. 

“What, did I strike a nerve, oh holy one? Good.”

Batman didn’t say a word until he got to the zeta.

“Funding for this division will be cut. I expect a report over Wonder Woman’s case in the next couple of hours,” a stoic, mechanical voice bellowed.

He turned his head towards the two superheroes in shock.

“Watch your mouth, _Oliver_ , and watch over your child with the same purpose like you desperately try to do with mine.”

* * *

Robin hadn’t felt this good in a while. 

Wind stroked racks into his hair, body soaring across the colorful city. ‘ _Not as many gargoyles to brood over_ ’ Kid Flash had beamed while the three of them raced across the tops of buildings, Robin transporting them from rooftop to rooftop, each and every time with a surprised Speedy making a jolted grunt.

Robin cackled every time, each time harder and harder. 

Soaring through the sky the boys had made a plan: close range work was a no-go, and Speedy would have to use his arrows to get hits down to the robots weak areas.

“Shoulder, back of its neck and the closest connection to the thigh and what would be its hipbone if it were a human,” Robin yelled over the mass destruction, running across a rooftop to avoid being shot at with the bot’s machine gun.

“Seems you know a fuck ton about tech shit, Rob,” Speedy questioned, a brow pitched higher. 

“Mind helping me on some robotics?” 

For a slip second, his heart tinged. _~~If I could~~. _

He smiled, one blaring and blinding. “We’ll see.”

And just like that, it was back to business. 

Speedy shooting his arrows in the weak spots, him going behind and throwing explosives and hardware malfunctioners to stop the thing from functioning, and once the robot decided to go down for the count, Kid Flash sweeped in and tied the thing down while it was down.

Civilians thanked him for what he did, which was new.

It’s new for anyone to thank him.

  
  


The sun was starting to fall, painting the sky a range of oranges, reds, pinks and purples. The three of them sat on top of a grassy knoll, secluded and high, showcasing the entire city down to it’s Gateway Arc to the dozens of skyscrapers mixed with the older brick buildings, lights starting to switch on one by one in them all.

Light, colorful. Beautiful.

It reminds Dick of happier times. _Happier times when it was just a different trio in a small caravan and his mother and father were fast asleep in their bed, and he with a single candle to guide his way, tiptoed through the creaking halls to the window, smiling looking at all the lights coming from the not so far away tents and cars passing by._

A genuine smile goes across his face. He bites into a fry to cure the need to just cry.

He kept his promise.

He was brought back to the present when he heard Speedy groan and begin on a tangent about his mentor. 

“He’s a bastard, a bigger whore than Bruce Wayne, really.”

Hearing that word put him on edge without hearing it come from Bruce’s mouth. His heartbeat got faster.

He bit into a slider.

“C’mon dude,” Kid Flash drawled, “he can’t be _that_ bad. He’s gotta live his life, too.”

“But you don’t get it man, he’s so god damn dumb and expects me to be to just be hoiky-toy fine when he drops all _his_ work on me. Pissing me off, then he wants to act like my father. Bullshit.”

Speedy laughed. “I’m calling serious bull on it. But dude, there’s no way Flash hasn’t been an ass to you.”

Kid Flash tensed up at father, Robin noticed. He took a mental note of it mainly because he didn’t like how that word made him feel the same way sometimes.

After a moment of hesitation, he chuckled. “Dude, no. I don’t have it as hard as you. Worst thing he’s done is bump into me like three times per day, and,” he paused, getting flustered over Speedy’s cackle and ‘boo’s’ and a throw of an empty wrapper to the speedsters head, he continued.

“Hey! It gets annoying after a while. Just earlier today, earlier today--stop laughing loser--he had almost made me knock down some fan-fucking-tastic pancakes earlier! It was almost a tragedy! A war crime I tell you!”

Robin began to snicker at that. 

“Last time I checked you were the one who bumped into Batman earlier.”

“Flash put a spell on me. Or maybe your old man Bats; probably gave Constantine the biggest batglare of a lifetime--other than the one he gives to _yours truly_ \-- and made so he’d have an excuse to be pissed at me other than being with you today.”

They all laughed. 

“Yeah, Rob, why do you let that constantly angry dude just control you like a damn puppet? Shit’s weird,” Roy sucked soda through a straw.

It got quiet, unprecedentedly quiet. 

Robin suddenly became infatuated with how green and thick the grass was.

“I, I uh owe him,” he began, tracing letters into the grass shards. “I owe him, and I’d be dead without him honestly. He’s all I have, really, so I do what he asks me to because it’s the least I can do.”

Silence, but one face was contorted in confusion, and another in understanding. 

Kid Flash’s face made him force his head back down. It was too similar, too forgien. 

It was like his mother’s when he had cried for minutes on end from a nightmare and he was in his _Tati_ ’s arms, and her eyes had so much of _it_.

He didn’t feel like he deserved it. He was awake, and he hasn’t seen someone come close to that in a while.

~~_Maybe he had and had the chosen the option to ignore i_ ~~ _t._

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Kid Flash said, voice wavering. Speedy agreed with a hum.

“That’s the only answer I have for you,” he looked down to check his communicator.

9:45

He looked up back to the sky, only for there to be stars replacing the swirls of colors. He got up to his feet.

**Shit.**

* * *

  
  


Robin ran into the cave, arms flailing while he began to apologize profusely.

“I’m so sorry Bruce,” he began. “I, I didn’t notice the time, I swear! I was sunset and next thing you know--”

“Shut up.”

Bruce’s growl set his stomach to turn, almost violently so.

He began to panic as the man stormed towards him. 

“Bruce,” he pleaded, “I’m--”

“I don’t want to hear any of your worthless excuses,” Bruce hissed in his ear. “You’re nothing but a shit-faced _whore_ , how dare you even think about after all I do for you you go and lie to me?”

Bruce’s hands were dangerously crawling up his neck. Dick suddenly wishes he was back into his dream, with the tens of hands instead of just two. Bruce spit on his face. 

“Disgusting,” he sneered. Dick started to gasp for air. 

No.

No no _no_.

_No no no_ **_no no_ **.

“Bruce, I, what are you--”

A zipper fell. Dick’s mind raced as fast as his heart. He did something _wrong_ . This **_thing_ ** they have, is wrong. Bruce was supposed to tell him how good he was and how angelic he is and smile and kiss him and _love_ him.

_What the fuck is this?_

Bruce grabbed Dick by his hair and without warning, forced all of his cock inside. Dick gagged and choked, tears streaming down his face as Bruce pistoned in and out of his mouth and utterly _used_ him.

_This is good. This was good. What is this?_

Bruce didn’t stifle any of his grunts and damn sure didn’t hold back. Every time he pulled out, Dick would try to pull back and he’d tighten his grip on the boy, and with his free hand slap the boy. 

“You good for nothing whore. Absolutely disgusting, you love this. Trifling.”

Dick didn’t, he really didn’t, his mind kept screaming no, but his body reacted like every other time. 

_Why_?

Bruce used his boot to press against the boy’s cock, forcing a reaction out of him. Dick wailed against Bruce, voice vibrating around his cock. He grabbed Dick’s hair with both hands and began to pound feverishly inside of him. 

Dick hated this. _No he didn’t, otherwise his own cock wouldn’t be absolutely throbbing_ _._

Three pumps without warning, and Bruce was coming into his child’s mouth. He hit Dick again. 

“You better keep it all in.”

Dick swallowed, gasping for air like he couldn’t breathe ~~_he couldn’t_ ~~.

His face was shoved down into the concrete ground, and he definitely felt something on his face bleeding. 

“Bruce, stop, **_please_ **,” he begged, one last time.

Bruce ripped his leggings and underwear down and immediately began pressing into Dick’s hole.

Dick screamed. “Bruce,” he cried.

A hand wrapped around him and slithered to his neck and

FUCK!

Bruce was choking him, making sure he couldn't speak or breathe. Bruce’s dick speared into him, the only lubrication being when he was sucking because ~~he doesn't want to acknowledge that Bruce is making him bleed.~~

“This,” Bruce punctured his words by pushing all the way in. “Is your punishment from disobeying me.”

Plunge. “Don’t you,” pull out. Plunge. “ **Dare** ,” pull out. Plunge. “Test me!”

Bruce started to shoot up his ass.

“ **_Boy_ **!”

All Dick could do was sob.

A couple more pistons and Bruce pulled out. 

“Go shower, you’re disgusting.”

Dick limped over, eyes blurry with tears the whole time.

He wailed once he hit his bed comforter.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry dickiebird.


	4. Interlude: Tears, Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tear [teer]
> 
> noun
> 
> this fluid appearing in or flowing from the eye as the result of emotion, especially grief
> 
> tear [ter]
> 
> verb
> 
> pull or rip (something) apart to pieces with force.  
> 
> 
> or: Gifts are a reoccurring theme in Dick and Wally's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW.

Tears are a visceral reaction. 

Humans straight from their mother’s womb have two reactions that they can do. Laughter, meaning “ _I like this_ ,” or, “ _This pleases me_ ,” and crying-- “ _I do not like this_ ; _this upsets me_ ”. 

  
  


Or ‘ _I am in pain_.’

Or ‘ _I feel betrayed_.’

Or ‘ _I feel wronged_.’

Or “ _I want this to_ **_stop_**.”

  
  


Dick feels like all at once. 

He’s worried too, deep down, because he somehow feels nothing, too.

He’s burning, every inch of his this body being pressed with needles and pins, kissed with flames.

The shower was a tortuous journey, stumbling and grasping onto anything for stability, eyes blurry from his tears. Lean to the left of the hall, trace his hand on the left wall. Lean to the right. 

Cycle.

He’s on fire, he’s burning. He’s in _hell_.

~~Sure as fuck deserves it, sick bastard let **_him_ ** kill **_them_ ** ~~.

He doesn’t know that he made it until he sees a gust of boiling hot water spurt from the showerhead, or rather, feels it.

‘Opposites attract, but similarities repel,’ He reasons with himself as he undresses. A part of him, so silent it’s quieter than the softest whisper, is questioning what does that have to do with him using the chemical wash setting.

He doesn’t bother to think about anything else. At least for a while.

He has a washcloth and is lathering up the soap that it kicks in for him. 

  
  


He has no more douche. ( _Or rather, nothing to douche with_.)

  
  


Bruce never helps him clean, not once, as a matter of fact he hates it. He’d kiss his neck and ask his ‘ _chum, baby, angel_ ’ to let him use him one more time and tilt his ‘ _cute little pussy up in the air_ ’ for him and plug him. 

Bruce never helps him clean his wounds or bruises, not ever, he enjoys them. He’d grab him from his behind and grind himself on him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear about how much of a ‘ _good boy, such a good boy for keeping my gifts on you_ ’.

  
  


Dick doesn’t like the scars he has been given, or walking around feeling so full for so long, it turns his stomach and makes him want to burrow deep inside of, _something_.

  
  


It’s a gift. _Mami_ and _Tati_ had frowns on their faces when a temporary clown, Anna was her name, had given him a bouquet of blue tulips.

“ _But Mami,_ ” he whined, “ _I have nothing to give to her_ ! _Besides, what good are flowers_?”

His mother’s brow peaked in interest. His father’s corners curved upwards as he erupted into laughter.

It was his turn to frown. “ _You and Tati give each other flowers all the time, and you say it’s because you love each other in a special way. I don’t love her that special way; I just met her and she’s already saying goodbye_.”

The corners of his eyes felt flooded, and tears leaked on his face. 

“ _Flowers are special, how can I just take this? I don’t really know why she gave it to me anyway_ ,” he rambled.

His mother clicked her tongue and got on her knees, leveling to Dick. His father did the same. A large thumb wiped away tears.

They had both squeezed him, gently yet firmly. His mother leaned towards his ear.

“ _It’s a gift, you keep them and treasure them no matter what, my little robin_ ,” she cooed.

  
  


You keep gifts.

Bruce has been giving him gifts, and you _keep_ gifts.

This still doesn’t make his heart flutter with acceptance like with Anna, it makes his heart pound and _ache_.

  
  


It still doesn’t solve that he doesn’t have douche to clean himself with. Bruce always knows when he doesn’t have any and he replaces them _not Alfred, he had thought it was the older man a while back, but Bruce asked if it was smoother, and only he’d pay that much detail_.

  
  


Dick grimaced. _Was he really that awful_ ? _He doesn’t know what he did for this punishment_.

  
  


He had finished rinsing himself off, black hair clinging to his neck. He got on his hands and knees. He sucked in a breath.

One finger was in, wiggling it briefly before opting to just gently slide it in and out of himself. 

  
  


It burned.

It burned.

It burned.

It burned it burned _itburned_ **_itburned_ **\--!

  
  


He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. He needs _it_ out of him. A piston in and out, in and out.

He added his middle finger along with the index that was already there. A stream of red flowed down to the drain, but his eyes were closed so tightly, he couldn’t have even known if someone were to walk in.

In and out. In and out. Apart.

He began to scissor his hands. Bruce made him do this many times before, always with a glint in his eyes and _love_.

He bit his lip harder, drawing blood, desperately trying not to choke out on tears.

He pushed his fingers as deep as they could go, down to the hilt, curling them.

Curling, curling. 

  
  


_Wait_.

  
  


Nothing was coming to his hands. Bruce’s seed, Dick knows what that stuff feels like. It can change-- warm to cold, wet and almost sticky to dry and flakey. 

Nothing. He was getting nothing out. 

Dick started to hyperventilate, gasping for air as if he's drowning, but the only water around him was controlled. He curled his hands deeper, the pain never subsiding. Faster. 

He screamed.

“ **_No_ **!”

Faster and faster (now he was rising he was pressing the wrong, _ ~~no right~~_ , no **wrong** buttons again he doesn’t want that he wants it to stop _why won’t it stop_ his own body **_won’t listen_ ** to him)

He comes with a cry. He yanks his hand out of his ass and punches the ground in the shower.

Again. Again.

Again. And again. And again.

He wails, teeth baring and sobs ripping his throat to shreds.

“ **_I want it out_ **!”

He screams and tugs at his hair. He can’t breathe properly due to his wails. His head is in between his legs, pulling himself together as he breaks down; shattering like glass, into a million pieces.

  
  
  


* * *

There’s many things that are nostalgic to Wally West.

The low murmur of the window ac, always slightly broken so the warmth of the air outside still seeped into his room despite the star being out. 

The cicadas, hiding outside their small home, outside his window in the tall fleets of grass and corn fields, whispering their tunes.

And glass shattering. Knowing that Rudy was piss-drunk and either dropped his bottle of scotch, _Tullamore Dew_ is the brand he always gets; it’s unmistakable each time he and his mother have cut their hands picking up the shattered pieces of green glass with the elegant writing on top he can _never_ get out his head--

He pulled his itchy check plaid blanket closer to him, curling into himself, not daring to move. He peered into the small light that showed under the crack from his door, yellow tinged. 

“ _The hell do you want, woman_ ,” his father slurred, shadows from him shuffling towards his mother cast on the ground, making the light flicker.

“ _Do_ , _would you want me to help you with_ ,” Wally knows her eyes are wild, throat dry from fear, “ _anything dear_?”

Silence. Silence with a light on isn’t good. Wally’s hands go white gripping his sheets and he flinches.

A loud slap and the sound of the pieces of paper from his mother’s job falling to the ground, picture frames of his hard work collapsing, and dishes from the first new meal his mother tried to make crashing ringed through the house.

The slaps become punches, those punches become wet and voices become a gargled mess of apologies and silences.

He hurts, his skin aches and he jerks and flinches like he’s taking hits, too. He does this everytime, he doesn’t have a reason why, this is routine for him.

Should it be? **No**. And the fact that he can’t do a damn thing to stop anything besides being deathly silent and still as possible makes him grind his teeth in frustration.

It may have been five minutes. It might’ve been five hours. Sounds stop.

Lights are off. Stumbling and grumbling disappear. 

Wally counts the seconds in his head before he steps out his bed and creeks his door open. 

No yelling. It’s safe (for him or her, he doesn’t know.)

He stands still, waiting for his mother’s nimble hands to grab his ankle. Same thing. Routine. 

  
  


They do. They’re wet. 

~~_He tries not to think about it_~~.

He’s in a trance, getting onto his knees, lifting his mother up. Walking outside to the front porch. The creaking of wood as the clouds move out the way and the moonlight shines on his mother’s--

**_Oh_ **.

He’s using everything he can not to gag. He faltures on his presentation of indifference; she was red. So many shades, smeared all over her. Red, purple, and the tiniest hint of blue in her eyes. Bloodshot.

They keep walking until they’re not. Unpaved roads, the bump and shake from the ground below them. 

She’s driving. The radio slices through their silence. 145.3 is the signal.

_'Holding on is harder than it seems, when you’re reaching for, so much more.'_

The moonlight shines through the old car’s interior as his mother drives them through nowhere. Slow, steady; her eyes far off, distant. It makes his stomach convulse violently, snapping him with vertigo, and yet he’s stunned silent and still. 

They park on the side of the road, next to a wheatfield; the cross hanging from the rear view mirror swinging side to side.

He swallows, sucks in a breath and slowly turns his head to his mother.

Her head is down, choking on silent sobs, shoulders shaking and grabbing the steering wheel with all her might.

Her silent sobs became giant wails as she began to scream. Anything she tried to say became unintelligible, salty tears washing away vermillion turning pink. 

She started to heave, gagging on bile and her sobs. Wally sunk into his seat, letting her take whatever’s inside on the out. He’s powerless anyway, _he can’t do shit but watch as people fall apart_ \--

_Honk!_

His mother began punching the horn, making her screams mix with cries of pain, her hand contorting and twisting more out of place with each hit.

_Honk! Honk! Honk!_

“Stop,” he muttered, swallowing for the third time, desperately trying to keep himself together.

_Honk! Honk! Honk!_

Her hands began to bleed more.

Air started to leave the car; Wally tried to breathe in a steady rhythm but he started to choke--

“ _Stop_ ,” he cried louder.

_**Honk!** _

_**Honk!** _

_**Honk!** _

He reached towards her hand and pulled it towards him, towards his heart.

“ _Please_ ,” he begged. “ _Please_ **_stop_ **.” The dam behind his eyes had chipped and lips quivering, he leaned into his mother’s snapped and broken hands, crying into them.

Silence. 

_Why do you stay with him?_

She began to shake a small bit, Wally in response lifting his head to look at her. A silent chuckle escaped her mouth, bringing out a slight smile.

Then she began to roar in cackles, kneeling over. Wally hasn’t heard her laugh so boisterously in so long, so long. 

~~Too~~ ~~long~~.

She wipes her tears as she dies down and chokes a little, gasping for air. 

“ _Why do I stay, Walls_?” she asked.

He didn’t think he asked that question aloud, but he subconsciously nods.

She leans back into the seat, head tilted up to the roof of the car.

“ _I don’t know. Convenience, I guess_ ,” she chuckles.

Wally is horrified. “ _Con-convenience_?”

“ _Yeah. He does the things that need to be done, encourages you to be active, he cares; he’s there_ .” She turns her head over to her son. “ _What more could I ask for? He’s a good man_.”

“ _How can a good man do the things he does then? Tell me that, because I’m not seeing what you’re seeing, obviously_.”

“ _He gave me a gift_ . _A special one, something that I would go back in time forever to relieve the first time I received it_ . _I thank god everyday for it_ , _and I will go through everything he hands my way because it’s so precious_.”

She stroked Wally’s cheek. “ _You wanna know what it is_?” Her voice cracked. They both knew the answer, not saying a word but speaking with their eyes. 

“ _It’s you_ , _and only a good man could give me the blessing of having you_.”

Wally turned back to the fields surrounding him, wondering if he really thinks the same.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very much debated on posting this part altogether--at first it was going to be along with what's now chapter 4, but the flow was really improper to me so I said 'this is my thing, lemme do my thing' and so this is here :)
> 
> still going to post the next chapter on Tuesday, like normal, just consider this a bit of a bonus chapter if you will
> 
> comments and kudos fuel me :))) I love to hear what you guys have to say.


	5. Napoleon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce slips, and the ripples of his actions create action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW

_ Gotham Gazette _

_ September 25th, 20XX _

_ The Dark Knight and Squire of Gotham Ethics Explored; Should There Be A Dynamic Duo? _

Gotham’s protectors of the night have more to them than what it seems, despite a fraction of these peoples’ lives actually known. Parading their skills and battles for the public eye, these two have shown that they do not have any tolerance for the city's state of blatant corruption. However, while at first the rumors of such have evolved far from random testimonies with Batman having flown across the plentiful amount of rooftops on his vigilant duty, another issue with his fairly recent partner has surfaced again: children fighting crime? 

Robin, the Boy Wonder as he is so often called, has had reported sightings of him as early as March of 2009. That would have the child practising the illegal act of vigilantism for over four years at the time of writing. In Gotham’s community, there are people who are accepting of these times, such as Bernard Jones, owner of successful restaurant Jackson’s across First Street.

“[I don’t] give a damn about what those two do really. They’re keeping people from taking from my [our] businesses. People want to come out and enjoy what I and in general what the city has to offer. They don’t feel like someone’s gonna blow them up for doing so much as leaving their home anymore, and they includes me,” Jones said.

One citizen Martha Blanchard believes that the two are a quote ‘necessary evil’. A single mother with three children, she says that her children have something to look forward to every night.

“I tuck my kids up and they won’t stop beggin’ me to stay up a bit longer so they can catch a glimpse of the boy, and who can really be [pissed] at a kid and their optimism for wanting to help an obviously depraved area? It’s working, as much as that bastard Joker keeps coming out...it’s working and my kids have a role model to keep them sane,” she said.

This is not the popular mentality in Gotham, however it may seem. In a recent poll produced by the Gazette earlier this week, out of 13 thousand votes, a whopping 78 percent of voters said that they mildly disagreed with the Bats’ way of using a child for his sidekick, such as child psychologist Amber Lee has said a multiple of times during her boards of discussion.

“I doubt that child is doing this out of his own free will,” Lee said. “That sort of manipulation to a child that looks no older than 14 couldn’t have. Batman held a false pretense for the child, and trained him to be a soldier. There is no reason that we should accept the fact that Gotham has a child soldier running on it’s streets and is encouraging others to do the same,” she said.

Dozens of protests have sparked from leaked camera footage of Batman during a fight with Victor Zsasz, in which Zsasz has a conversation about Batman’s treatment of Robin.

* * *

  
  
  


[The drips of water mixed from the outside and inside of the building. Blood was in that mix, the ghastly smells of infected and rotting flesh,  _ cadaverine _ . Three bodies were hung up. The farthermost left was stripped bare, fresh. Crimson still dripping, sliding down their back.]

  
  
  


**EXTERNAL EXAMINATION** : The body is that of a 43 year old; slightly overweight yet well nourished. Caucasian male. 246 lbs. 70.8 inches in height. Immediate punctures near jugular and crotch, which is severed. Markings across the male’s arms, legs, torso, and back. Total carvings are 240. Infections in several were present, along with traces of fecal matter and acetone.

  
  
  


Precursory situations included being filed as a missing person on Sep 10th 20XX. 

  
  


**NAME** : Joseph Callingway DOB: 5-20-1951 MOD: Homicide

  
  
  


[Mouth gaped open, muscles loose. Body glossed.  _ Disgusting _ .]

  
  


**EXTERNAL EXAMINATION** : Body of 8 year old. Malnourished. African-American/Caucasian female. 50 inches. 23 lbs. Early decomposition has set in; body beginning to expel fluids through maggot infested eyes and mouth. Immediate puncture wounds near CCA (most likely COD) Scalp and left forearm burned, along with carving of tally marks in the child’s thighs. 391.

  
  


Missing person since October of previous year. (200X)

  
  


**NAME** : Demetra Mason DOB: 10-18-2000 MOD: Homicide

  
  


[ _ Maggots crawling across her face. Eyes deflated, gone. Skin marbled; more like a monster from a horror film than a little girl who wanted to follow a man who promised her Barbies _ .]

  
  


[Dick was in the middle, chains and meat hooks wrapped on his wrists. Stripped down to his mask and boxers. Face stuck in a grimace, sweat trailing and making the ends of his hair stick. 15. There were a total of 15 tally marks in his skin, almost blending in with the dozens of scars given to him by other rogues and Batman himself.]

  
  


Bruce stood in disgust and awe not being able to look away.

  
  


“You know, I think it’s unfair how people paint me like I’m a bad guy; I mean I know I am, but still, come on.”

  
  


Batman’s head turned and he raced over to the voice, teeth gritted and hands near his utility belt. 

  
  


Combat boots went across the floor. 

1.

2.

1.

2.

Victor raised his arms and spread them out from his body, opening the trenchcoat that revealed the hundreds of slices of tally marks into his own skin. 

  
  


“You know, as crazy as this sounds, the Joker isn’t crazy about his thoughts about you.”

  
  


Batman glared, shoulders still like a cat hissing. Victor casually strided towards the man, slowing down even more when passing his victims.

“You aren’t a talking man, I get it. I’ll do it for you,” he chuckled, coming to a complete stop in front of Robin’s unconscious body. 

  
  


“Why do you call yourself the Batman? I’m starting to think you have a sense of humor because you’re batshit crazy like the rest of us.”

  
  


Not so much as a sound slipped from Bruce’s lips as Victor reached to the boy’s leg, caressing it. Victor smiled.

  
  


“He’s your  _ sine qua non _ , isn’t he. He’s like miss crybaby over there’s screams were to me, absolutely goddamn beautiful.”

  
  


[Such a small body, it can’t even fill the metal slab. The coroner had to tie the ribbon that held her toe-tag tighter than the rest.]

  
  


“It’s crazy how you aren’t saying a single word at all, Batman. It’s almost as if you know exactly what I mean,” he mocked. 

  
  


“You’re a more disgusting fuck than I am, and that’s saying something. At least I don’t parade that I am this hero that's going to save the city and by extension the world and all that bullshit because I know that’s  **_not true_ ** .”

  
  


His veins in his neck began to become noticeable, face tinting red.

  
  


“I hate fuckers like you; most people suppress those urges to do shit and you don’t even suppress shit, not a damn, you just pretend and lie like you have no flaws--!”

  
  


In seconds, Victor grabs a knife from his trenchcoat and is charging towards Bruce, eyes gleaming with depraved joy.

“You understand the truth!”

4.

5.

6.

7.

Snap, rip, flip. 

Punch. Spit. Stab.

Punch. Stab,  **_snap_ ** .

Bruce punched the body over and over and over and over and the world, when he finally pulled back into the world it was **red**.

  
  


Red, a mess of red is everywhere. It’s thrown across the walls, coupled on the floor in thick puddles that seep into the bottom of Bruce’s shoe. 

  
  


Absolutely drenched.

  
  


Drip, drip, drip.

  
  


Bruce wiped the blood on his glove off on his leg and flipped open his communicator.

* * *

  
  
  


Clark Kent grimaced, running a hand through his hair; his glasses moved up his bridge slightly with the movement. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a large sigh, loosening his shoulders and slumping into his desk chair. He couldn’t bring himself to read anymore of the article, not when the computer screen mocked him with the ‘replay’ button of the footage of...of…

_ That _ . 

Now he has always known that Bruce was a ruthless man. That was an unnecessary statement, that man is a wolf in sheep’s clothing; posing as a (for a lack of better term) himbo running his mommy’s and daddy’s money and secretly beating citizens near death every night was a tell-tale sign of that. 

But even in those business ventures, he still manages to swindle and manipulate the entire room like puppets on a string to work with his rules. It’s a shame they don’t realize it.

_ Clark really wonders why he can consider this man to be one of his closest friends _ .

Bruce needs saving from himself; there’s something going on, a war maybe, he doesn’t know anymore. Actions have to be done. Something, anything. 

Because watching a man be accused of something so vague but down a sick line of fucking repugnantcy and act out is giving him no other option. No, no other option at all. 

  
  


_ Because only a guilty man beats a man bloody to the point where each scar mangles and twists and contorts to look  _ **_raw_ ** **.**

* * *

  
  
  


“I  **_fucking knew_ ** it was something about him!”

Oliver slammed his hands on the desk, making paper and clips shake. He gripped his knuckles until they were white. 

“I goddamn knew it, and apparently, some fucker who loves slicing people up got that, too.”

“Bruce has his,” Clark hesitated, “ _ tendencies _ . But you saw that video just like I did, and I really don’t feel comfortable calling them, that.”

He and Clark have been arguing back and forth over an already made decision for almost an half-hour, Oliver’s voice rising and rising and Clark becoming more timid, expressing the need to fall back and his regret. Over what? Hell if he’d know.

“What fucking part isn’t going through your head,” Oliver asks, the crook of his neck holding his phone as he moved his hands aimlessly. He couldn’t wrap his head around, never could, the fact that Clark was just so fucking willing to let Bruce slide and do whatever he wants. Hell, Bruce could whip his dick out and piss all over Clark and Clark would apologize after maybe a brief moment of being angry. 

Self sacrificing bastard, all of them. He supposes that’s part of the criteria of alien superheroes; protecting people that aren’t even them.

“Call it for what it is, blatant rage that’s gone to the point of being inhumane, and if that conversation has anything to say about it, he has the same mentality with Dick!”

He feels his voice gaining scratches from the yelling, but he needs his point across, deeply. “Call it for what it fucking is, abuse!”

“I know, I know,” Clark whined. 

“Please, Oliver, I really do know,” his voice was completely subdued, laced with something that can only be described as broken-hearted. “I know, it’s just, god, the hell is going on?”

Clark’s voice began to choke.

_ Fucking shit. _

“Clark, you saw those fucking tapes,”

“I saw the  **_fucking tapes_ ** , Oliver.”

Whatever Oliver had to say died in his throat. 

“I saw those tapes over and over again; I’ve seen those tapes in real life. I see them everywhere, and lord forbid a man wanted to give someone the benefit of the doubt, you know, as you should, because I care about him and I’m--”

Clark was rambling, a million words spilling from his lips. He took a deep breath.

  
  


“We need to hold an investigation on him.”

One, two, three beats of silence.

  
  


“Effective?”

  
  


“ **_Immediately_ ** .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive :)
> 
> sorry I just dipped, I got really sick and weak and things got rough. I'm better and back at it though!
> 
> my schedule has gotten super intense with my article quotas and things, so I'm moving my updates to Friday/Saturday :) hope you guys can understand.
> 
> as always, comments are appreciated


	6. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain tends to make people have feelings. Sometimes it washes things away, other times it makes people weary of what's to come.

_ Hey, wait! I’ve got a new complaint. _

The song boomed from the warehouse, outside nothing but the same red brick across the rest of Gotham City. Rain was pouring, sliding down the manholes; gushing out of the drain lines. Black leather boots squeaked as he walked across the cobalt.

_ She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak _ .

Blood is an interesting chemical. It’s vital for survival; goes beyond humanity. Thicker than water most say, it acts more as an oil than anything. The plasma inside does the real work; the medium between water and the healing, breathing, living.

_ If it were the same, like the rest of a person’s bodily functions, it’d might as well be piss. _

Oil never mixes with water, and the blood gushed out of his side and carved a river below his body.

**_Cut myself on angel hair and baby’s breath._ **

“Don’t dig deep where you don’t belong,” said Bruce. He kicked the body, “It’s never worth your or my time.”

* * *

Wally’s head was spinning. He could have sworn that just a couple weeks,  _ days _ ,  he doesn't know anymore , he was on cloud nine. Working with the best of the best in his city, his idols. Then Robin had left and everything had been going to shit ever since.

He still knows that he’s had it better than poor Robin has. He doesn't  _ know _ that, but he does.

Bile rose up his throat, and he swallowed it down. Gotham was on fire, turning itself inside out on a manhunt for the Dark Knight. Nails scratched at his arms; a leg bounced with no stop in mind. He knew there was some shit, he fucking knew it. He had called Roy about it.

Son of a bitch decided to hang up and not call back. It’s been days since then.

He knows he has a great intuition; always knows when shit is off about something, anyone, it doesnt fucking matter. All he knows is that audio, god.

It’s less of what is said and what was implied. Shit,  **_fuck_ ** .

Morbid curiosity killed the cat. A shame the cat’s legs were sawed off.

* * *

“How are you even going to fucking punish him,” Oliver whispered, inside a coffeeshop in the most secluded corner, hiding smack dab in the (many) cameras.

Clark looked like a fish out of water, eyes big and constantly moving, glancing back as though Bruce was going to bust in at any moment. No metas in Gotham, afterall.

“I don’t know, we need, I just have to,” he began blurting. Oliver ran his hand over his face. 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘you need to really think out your actions’ and you don’t want to ruin shit that you have with Bruce and all that shit but come  _ on  _ Clark,” his voice began to rise.

“I get it, we get it, you ranted and raved over it for hours. But we’re here, we’re here for evidence because whatever the fuck he’s been doing, and we  _ both know _ **_exactly_ ** what he’s been doing,” Oliver took a deep breath and sipped his coffee. Almost black, straight. Dirty and clear cut. 

Clark took in a long and drawn out sigh. 

“I know, I do,” a beat of silence, “I really do.”

“Then what the fuck’s your problem?” Oliver burst. He rose from his seat, eyes seething, hands gripping and starting to shake. “This was your idea,”

“It was not--”

“It  **_was_ ** ,” he raised the cup with the hot liquid leaning forward in an instant, ready to splash the coffee all over Clark, to burn his skin, to get him to understand, to--

  
  


_ Crash! _

* * *

The fireplace cracked, embers rising to the top of the fire only to disappear. The library was concerningly quiet for the Wayne household, not a single peep at all. It was deathly quiet, like catacombs, but not even the drips from those caves could make anyone go mad like the library.

Then, suddenly,

_**Rip** ! _

  
Little fragments of paper turned and twisted as they fell to the ground. "2010 Hayworth Road" one piece fell.

_Rip._

With no emotion, Bruce tore apart another paper to shreds, all from the same file.

[ **Investigation B114** ]

_Rip. Rip._

"Drug and Human Trafficking Pins found-"

_Rip. Rip._

"Total of 6 children [ **redacted** ]..bodies of [ **redacted** ]"

_Rip. Rip. Rip._

Child of billionaire Bruce Wayne found with prexisting and persistent wounds along his [ **redacted** ]

Bruce chuckled, shoulders shaking. He picked up the pieces from the ground. He looked at a small fragment below him.

_"Private Investigation of Bruce Wayne and the relationship his ward of Dick Grayson in effect by the Justice League effective--"_

"Good thing for Clark and his stupidity."

The papers lasted barely any time, taking one second, two seconds, and three. 

Evidence.

**_Gone_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but def important.
> 
> PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!  
> with work, the hurricane n stuff things got crazy, but uhh I made a
> 
> [Tumblr](https://x0xbunniiwritesmaybex0x.tumblr.com)
> 
> &
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/x0xbunnix0x/likes)
> 
> so go bully me there >:)


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